Yun Shuyue had always assumed Jiang Chengyuan would bring Zhao Qingyun along. In the original story, he indulged his arrogant, willful cousin so much that she often came to the Prime Minister’s residence later to make trouble for Yun Shuyue.
Outside, Zhao Qingyun’s crying grew fainter. Yun Shuyue rolled up a cushion, leaned it against the carriage wall, and rested her head there, feigning sleep—better that than accidentally dozing off against his shoulder again.
She thought Jiang Chengyuan would, as usual, close his eyes to rest. Unexpectedly, he began a casual conversation: “Before we left, Chun Liu fell ill, so you’ve had no one to attend you. I’ve asked Chen Ping to send word back. Once she recovers, the household will send her to Rong County.”
Traveling without a personal maid was inconvenient. Once they reached Rong County, Jiang Chengyuan would surely be busier than now. Having someone close at hand would be better.
Speaking the words, he felt oddly content.
Yun Shuyue opened her eyes: “No rush. Let Chun Liu rest longer. If we return late, she can come then.”
In truth, Yun Shuyue had her own plan. Once settled in Rong County, she intended to stay only a few days before finding an excuse to return to the capital. Surely Jiang Chengyuan wouldn’t force her to remain.
Jiang Chengyuan added: “This trip won’t be short. At least two months.”
Two months? Yun Shuyue’s brows twitched even as her eyes closed.
Five days passed quickly. Yun Shuyue’s energy waned. The closer they drew to Rong County, the rougher the roads became. The carriage jolted constantly, making even brief naps difficult. In just five days, she had visibly grown thinner.
That night, seated before the mirror, she studied her reflection and sighed. The body she had inherited was frail to begin with. Though she had worked hard to strengthen it, recovery was no overnight matter. Her complexion, which had just begun to regain some color, now looked pale again.
This Jiang Chengyuan… since he has no feelings for me, wouldn’t it be better to live like “well water never disturbing river water”? Why drag me along to suffer like this?
The weariness rising from deep within made Yun Shuyue yawn widely. In the room, steam curled up from the bath barrel. Jiang Chengyuan, having arranged for her to bathe, excused himself to “chat with the officials,” though in truth he had matters to discuss—after all, the closer they drew to Rong County, the more pressing the concerns, foremost among them preventing riots among the disaster victims.
But to Yun Shuyue, the most urgent matter was how to pass safely through Great Pine Mountain. She lifted her snow‑pale legs and stepped into the bath, sinking with a long, contented breath. Much of her fatigue seemed to melt away.
Here was not the Prime Minister’s residence, and with Chun Liu absent, Yun Shuyue had to manage everything herself. Bathing was tiring work—scrubbing front and back, left and right. Before long, she was yawning again, her eyes misty with drowsiness. Soon she leaned against the barrel’s edge and drifted into sleep.
Half an hour later, when the officials had retired, Jiang Chengyuan returned. Opening the door, he was met with a startling sight: the bath’s steam had thinned, the water nearly cooled. A damp cloth clung to Yun Shuyue’s front, its wetness outlining her curves. He quickly averted his gaze, coughing lightly. The sound woke Yun Shuyue, who sighed heavily, still groggy from lack of rest.
Jiang Chengyuan said: “Madam, the water has cooled. If you stay longer, you’ll catch a chill.”
He spoke as he walked toward the clothes rack.
Only when Yun Shuyue’s gaze fell on him did her awareness return, a beat too late. Instinctively, she sank deeper into the water, leaving only her head visible: “My lord, I haven’t finished bathing yet—why have you come back?”
Jiang Chengyuan replied evenly: “Madam, an entire hour and you’re still not done?”
Yun Shuyue glanced at the water clock on the table. Indeed, two hours had already passed. Her flushed face grew awkward: “Could you wait a little longer? At least until I’m out of the bath before coming in?”
Jiang Chengyuan untied his robe’s sash, picked up a basin, and stepped out of the room.
When he returned, Yun Shuyue was already dressed in a simple robe, tidying up. He noticed the discarded gown on the chair and her deeply frustrated expression—he could guess most of the story. Exhaustion had left her irritable, and the gown’s buttons simply refused to fasten. In anger, she had tossed it aside.
Once she finished tidying, Yun Shuyue climbed straight into bed, lying on the innermost side facing the bed rail. These past nights at the post stations, they had slept like this. At first, she had been uncomfortable, hesitating and nervous before finally drifting off. But as the roads grew harsher, each day left her feeling as though her body might fall apart. By evening, she was so drained she could hardly breathe, too weary to speak, irritated by everything she saw.
Gradually, she stopped caring. At such times, she would never settle for a chair—unless there were a soft, luxurious couch, she would cling to the only place that promised real rest: the bed.
She truly needed sleep. Otherwise, she feared she might not endure the journey to Rong County, nor survive the passage through Great Pine Mountain.
Jiang Chengyuan hung his robe neatly on the rack, placed her gown there as well, then sat at the bed’s edge to rest.
In the darkness, listening to her heavy breathing, he felt a pang of regret. Perhaps he should never have brought her along.
The next morning, Yun Shuyue woke in utter embarrassment. Her drowsy eyes lingered half‑closed for a while, reluctant to move. If not for the journey ahead, she would have gladly lazed in bed all day—but that was impossible.
Jiang Chengyuan’s voice came from behind her: “Madam, are you not planning to rise?”
Behind her? Hadn’t she gone to sleep on the inside?
Turning her head, she saw his clean‑shaven jaw—and then realized she was lying sprawled across his chest.
Though flustered, she couldn’t deny this had happened night after night. Before sleep, they both lay properly, but once she drifted off, she lost control. It was like certain habits—you know they’re wrong, but after repeating them, guilt fades.
She sat up, her long hair cascading forward like a waterfall. Her apology sounded increasingly perfunctory as she yawned: “Sorry, my lord. I’ve just been so tired these days. No matter how I sleep, I can’t get comfortable. Please don’t mind it.”
Jiang Chengyuan had endured her weight all night. Normally, his stamina was excellent; the jolts of travel meant little to him. But every night, once she fell asleep, she made small unconscious movements—burying her head against his chest, draping her arms and legs over him. Last night, she had simply used him as a pillow, lying on him the whole time.
What unsettled him most was that, without realizing it, she sometimes touched places she shouldn’t, leaving him sleepless, forced to restrain himself until dawn.